The Interim
by prodigywriter
Summary: One-shot pieces to fill in the gap between Season 5's finale and Season 6's premiere.  Alternating between Sam and Dean's perspective.  ***NOW COMPLETE!***
1. May 2010: Promises Kept

_This is my take on what happened to our guys between when Sam fell into the pit and when he finally makes his way back to Dean. If you aren't privy to any of the spoilers that were offered at this year's Comic-Con International then you might want to skip this and come back to read it later as I do use the basic information they gave during the panel as to how the gap between the two seasons will be filled._

_**Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, but I like to pretend I do. Thanks to Kripke, Gamble, Edlund, Singer, Wanek, Manners, and all the people who brought Supernatural to us little folk!**_

_And, as always - Please, please, PLEASE review! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Dean had lied to Lisa the day he'd told her that when he thought of himself happy, he thought of her and Ben. At least, that's what he kept telling himself over his glass of whiskey. But the truth was he wasn't happy, sitting at her dining room table, his hands hesitating over the dinner she'd made.

Dean had never promised Sam anything either. On that, he was holding on to the bit of truth his silence had given him, when his younger brother had told him to go find Lisa and Ben and have his "apple pie life" after... Dean shook his head, refusing to even think the words that threatened to overtake the small measure of self control he had left, and continued to think.

He'd never actually promised to stop living the hunter's life, to stop looking for a way to get Sam out of the pit. So why was he even pretending to try any of it? Dean looked up and forced a smile at Lisa as she set Ben's plate in front of him. He met the kid's eyes and tried to widen the grin. It felt too forced and, as Dean watched, Ben grimaced and dropped his gaze to his dinner plate.

"Do you need anything else, Dean?" Lisa's soft voice asked from the kitchen doorway. Dean shook his head.

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

Internally he scoffed at himself for even trying to say those words: I'm good. He'd never be good. Not while he knew the horrors that Sam was suffering down in Hell. Dean caught the sad, sympathetic look of pity on Lisa's face and anger flared up in him. He didn't deserve anyone's pity!

If it weren't for him, if Dean had been just a bit more resilient, he could have withstood the torture in hell long enough for the angel, Castiel, to get to him and stop the first seal from being broken. Sam wouldn't have killed Lilith and opened the final seal, setting Lucifer free. The Apocalypse could have just been another prophecy left unfulfilled.

But Dean had been too weak, too feeble to survive and he'd given in. Forty Years. That was what Dean had lasted at the hands of the demon, Alastair. Sam and Dean's father had endured far longer than that, almost a hundred years. But not Dean, not even close. He'd taken his punishment and then gotten down off the rack, taking Alastair's position as head sadist in the bowels of Hell. Dean had tortured and tormented hundreds - thousands - of souls during his brief stint and had grown to enjoy it.

Thinking about it all now made Dean's stomach churn, the acid building with the disgust he felt. Dean pushed the plate away, the smell of baked chicken and green beans making him want to hurl. He picked up his glass of whiskey, the warm amber liquid swirling around the cup as his shaking hand raised it to his lips. He wanted to knock back the booze, but knew that doing so would only give Lisa more reason to be concerned. So he contented himself with simply sipping the liquor, letting it roll slowly down the back of his throat, warming his insides as it moved from his empty stomach to the rest of his system.

The warmth only lasted a few seconds before the icy despair took control again. Dean shivered involuntarily and quickly looked up to see if either Ben or Lisa had noticed. Lisa was still in the kitchen and Ben's focus was solely on his food. Even from across the table, Dean could see that the kid was chewing with deliberateness, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to swallow.

Ben was nervous. This wasn't the same Dean he'd met almost two years ago. This wasn't the cool Dean who'd shown him how to get his GameBoy back from that bully, Ryan Humphrey. The one who respected Ben as person and didn't treat him like the little kid he really was. This Dean was hard and distant. This Dean was silent and...well, destroyed. It was so obvious on the poor kid's face that Dean felt another weight drop onto his shoulders as the guilt of his uncomfortable presence began to weigh heavily on Lisa and Ben.

Taking another sip of the whiskey, Dean closed his eyes and sat back against his chair, the hard wood nestling between his shoulder blades. He had never truly made any promises, and yet, there he sat in Lisa's dining room pretending to be okay. Dean knew why he was trying, why he had said goodbye to Bobby, climbed into the Impala, and headed straight for Ohio. A normal life, an "apple pie life," was all that Sam had ever truly wanted and if asking Dean to live that life for the both of them was to be Sam's final wish, then Dean was going to do his damndest to honor that wish.

So Dean forced his eyes open, forced them to meet Lisa's soft chocolate eyes as she stared down at him with concern and sympathy, and smiled. "What's for desert?"

"I bought a peach pie at the bakery. I figured we could warm it up and top it off with some vanilla ice cream," Lisa replies, her face softening with relief. She glances down at Ben who's staring at Dean again, this time with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Pie? Sweet," Ben crows happily, before digging into his dinner again, this time with fervor only a child can muster when desert is on the horizon. Neither of them catch the flicker of pain that flashes across Dean's face at Ben's words or the watery shine to his eyes as he reaches out and pulls Lisa to him, her hip resting warmly against his chest.


	2. July: The Return

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1...**

_Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first chapter. This will be completed soon (I hope...work and life have been hectic). I wrote the first chapter not long after watching the finale and continued after seeing the stuff from Comic-Con International. It seems to have taken on a life of it's own. I hope it does the Supernatural world justice and, even though it will wind up being obsolete once Season 6 comes back, I hope it works for all you fans out there!_

_Please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!_

* * *

Sam Winchester remembers Hell. Not the same way that his older brother Dean did after spending 4 months in the pit before being pulled out by the angel, Castiel. Sam remembers Hell in flashes, like a strobe light at a Techno club. He hears the screams of the damned; feels the dry heat baking his skin; tastes the sulphur and gore that permeate the air around him. Then the memories are gone and all he can hear is the clanging of the piece of junk car he bought for three hundred bucks the month before. All he can feel is the cool Fall breeze coming through the window, ruffling his long brown hair around his forehead and into his eyes. The air smells of leaves and rain, tastes metallic but only in the pleasant, electric way that happens before a thunderstorm.

There is a rumble of thunder that rolls across the sky as the storm advances. Black clouds hang low on the horizon and as the first strike of lightning leaves a ghostly blue line in the middle of Sam's vision, the rain begins. Fat drops slowly hit the torn upholstery of the door frame, leaving brown stains of moisture on the tan interior. It takes some of Sam's considerable upper body strength to get the old, rusted window closed before the rain gets heavier, turning from a meandering drizzle to a full on downpour.

The car's tires are so bald that it makes driving treacherous, so much so that it forces Sam to pull to the side of the road and wait for the storm to pass. It's not a place he wants to be. Stopping means thinking and thinking means Dean. It's been two months since Sam found himself topside, lying on his side in the middle of Stull Cemetery with no idea how or why he was pulled from Hell. Two months since he made the trip to Ohio and stood outside in the dark shadows watching Dean as he attempted to have a family dinner with Lisa and Ben.

The sight had shot needles through Sam's heart, tore a hole in his chest. The entire trip to Cicero, Sam had told himself that whatever he would see would make him happy. That what he would find in the picturesque town would set his mind at ease and allow him to move on. But he was unprepared for the actual pain that sight would cause him.

It had been many years since Dean had scoffed at Sam's desire for an "apple pie life" while on their first hunt together in Jericho, California. Six years since Sam had defended his need for normal, his hope for a career as a lawyer and, someday, husband and father. Six long, agonizing years since Jess was ripped from his life by the demons who had been circling Sam since before he was even born. And after all that time, here his big brother was, living that very life.

Sam had stood watching Dean through the bay windows as he talked to Lisa, smiled at Ben, sipped from the glass in his hands as they rested over the dinner plate. He'd stood there for what seemed like hours, hidden in the darkness like a prowler, just watching the family unit that had developed almost overnight. It filled Sam's eyes with tears and turned his stomach to stone.

It wasn't jealousy or anger that affected Sam; that was something he didn't think he could ever feel towards Dean. Not after all that his older brother had done for him, not after all the terrible things Sam had done _to_ Dean. No, what Sam felt, truly felt at the sight of Dean at a dinner table in a white clapboard house with a cookie cutter lawn, was relief. Dean had finally done something that Sam had asked of him. He'd finally thrown in the towel with their whole messed up life and went for something he'd always secretly wanted: a normal life.

With the vision of Dean looking somewhat happy burned into his brain, Sam had finally turned around and walked away. It was the hardest thing Sam had ever done, even after saying yes to Lucifer and battling with the fallen angel for control of his body as it beat Dean to a certain death. But it was something that Sam knew he had to do. He had to give Dean the chance at normal that Sam himself had been denied so cruelly years before.

The guilt of letting Dean think Sam was trapped in Hell, suffering just like Dean had the year before, was something Sam was determined to swallow down, something he was prepared to carry for the rest of his life. As Sam faded away into the black night, a weight was finally lifted from his heart, one Sam had never truly thought would ever leave him.


	3. October: Haunted Memories

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1...**

_Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first two chapters. This will be completed soon (I hope...work and life have been hectic). I hope it does the Supernatural world justice and, even though it will wind up being obsolete once Season 6 comes back, I hope it works for all you fans out there!_

_Please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!_

* * *

The Impala sat like a black sentinel at the curb of Lisa Braeden's house for two days before it made its way into her garage and under a dark green tarp. Dean couldn't bear to drive the beautiful car anymore. It was too much a part of his past life as the items that remained in the trunk. He knew that the weapons inside that trunk made Lisa uneasy and so he left them hidden beneath the secret compartment, left them to the dust and moisture that would slowly claim them.

For four long weeks, Dean had stayed at Lisa's house, lying beside her in bed but never sleeping. The nightmares of the pit that had long plagued Dean's mind while he slept were replaced with the replay of Sam's plunge into the vortex to Hell, his younger brother's soft hazel eyes relaying all the apologies and goodbyes he'd never gotten to say. The first few nights were just as much an ordeal for Lisa and Ben as they were for Dean; his screaming and flailing rousing both of them from their own slumber.

Eventually, Dean was able to control the cries of pain and loss that would burst from him as he awoke from the dreams, biting down on the agony that ripped apart his chest every time his mind would betray him that way. He would lie awake in the early morning hours, watching Lisa's chest rise and fall as she slept beside him, her face peaceful and serene. Sometimes, he would sneak down the hall and watch Ben sleep too, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was going to watch the small boy grow up to be a man and that Sam was just as much responsible for that as Dean was. It was a small peace, but it gradually helped Dean put that day in Stull to the back of his mind.

Once the nightmares had dissipated some Dean began to go stir crazy, holed up in the small house while Lisa was at work and Ben was at school. It was during one insufferably long day that Dean decided he needed to start contributing to the household he'd thrust himself upon. He'd trolled through the list of possibilities his unique skill set afforded him. Mechanic was the obvious choice, but it felt wrong. His dad had been a mechanic and had taught Dean everything he knew about cars. To be one himself, after everything Dean had been through, felt like a violation of something sacred somehow. Like the Impala in the garage, Dean needed to put that part of his history away too.

Lisa was supportive, more supportive than Dean could have ever asked for, and she was the one who'd suggested construction. The idea had peaked Dean's interest, for probably the same reasons Lisa had suggested it. On a construction site, Dean would be able to hit things, tear things down, rip things apart. It was as close to therapy Dean would ever be willing to get and it would pay pretty decently.

Two months later, Dean was working for a local construction company and had saved up enough money to buy an ancient beat up pickup truck. The thing was rusted and loud, its engine sounding more like a dying man's hacking cough than the healthy growl of an animal, the purr of a cat usually, Dean was used to engines having. It was also missing its radio. That had been the selling point for Dean. He didn't listen to much music anymore, too many memories in the lyrics of the classic rock and heavy metal he was accustomed to.

Every once in a while, when he would go out to dinner with Lisa and Ben and they took Lisa's small, blue sedan, the radio would be playing softly in the background as they drove home. It was always country music or easy listening stations, almost as though Lisa knew what hearing Black Sabbath or Guns-N-Roses would do to Dean. Ben would complain, whine about the "wussy" music, and beg for them to change the station, but Lisa never gave in. Dean was grateful for that, even if he could never voice his thanks.

Not asking about Dean's past quickly became an unspoken rule that even Ben followed. He was there and he was sad, had gone through some terrible things, but Dean wasn't going to talk about them. It was the past and that was where he wished to leave it. But Dean never forgot either. He would sometimes drift off somewhere, somewhere in a time long before Lisa even knew the name Dean Winchester.

They would be watching TV, laughing at some stupid moment on some generic show, and Lisa would notice Dean's sudden stillness. Looking over at him she'd see that shielded look in his green eyes and just know that he was someplace else. If Dean sat like that for too long, or if Ben began to notice his silence, Lisa would reach out and take his hand. Her gentle touch always seemed to rouse him out of his thoughts and he would force on a smile and return to normal. Or as normal as the man who showed up on her doorstep six months prior could ever be.

Lisa had an idea of what Dean had been through. He had talked to her a bit, trying to remove some of the burden from his shoulders, if just for a little while. But all he'd managed to tell her was that his brother Sam was gone and that the world she and Ben had only glimpsed the year before was settling into something manageable, something he didn't need to be a part of anymore. The look on Dean's face had been enough for Lisa to know that whatever had happened to him in the days between when he'd shown up at her door with the promise that she'd be "taken care of" and his strained goodbye to when he'd arrived late in the night a few weeks later was something the man would never speak about.

Dean may have tried to forget his past, but he couldn't forget the decades of training that were ingrained in him. He still looked over his shoulder when taking out the trash, still slept with a rock-salt loaded sawed-off shotgun under the bed, still skimmed the papers for the odd disappearances and deaths. His old cell phone, hidden in the glove compartment of the Impala, was always charged and still held the numbers of several hunters, including Bobby Singer. Being a hunter would always be a part of him, but it would be a distant part. Dean had made Sam a promise, sort of, and he was determined to keep it. It was the least that Dean could do for his little brother.


	4. February: Soldiering on

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1...**

_Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first three chapters. This will be completed soon (I hope...work and life continue to be hectic). I hope it does the Supernatural world justice and, even though it will wind up being obsolete once Season 6 comes back, I hope it works for all you fans out there!_

_Please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!_

* * *

Sam hunts almost all the time now. He does it under the radar, taking small cases that won't attract too much attention. He doesn't know exactly how much hunting Dean has cut out of his life; how much, if at all, he talks to Bobby and Rufus. It's safe to say that Bobby would call Dean the millisecond he heard a rumor of Sam being topside and that's not what Sam wants. His older brother has earned the right to cut his ties and be "Joe Somebody" with a nine-to-five job and a pretty wife with two-point-five kids. If anyone has earned that right, Dean Winchester - who sacrificed his life and happiness countless times, who went to Hell and came back, who saved the world - deserved it.

Sam lives meagerly, hustling pool and poker to earn the cash to pay for the crappy fast food and even crappier motels. He never stays in one town for more than a few days, long enough to complete his job and move on. He doesn't notice the pretty girls who smile at him from across the hole-in-the-wall diners he sometimes stops in and his perpetual "game face" keeps them from approaching him. Gone are the puppy-dog eyes Dean used to rag on him about. Sam's face is hard, hazel eyes distant, and he barely recognizes the person he sees in the mirror most mornings.

Occasionally, he has nightmares and, on those nights, he fishes a bottle of Jack Daniels out of his duffle bag and numbs his brain with liquor. It helps...sometimes. Sam almost wishes he could pick his nightmares because he'd try to make them all the pit. Those are the ones he can reconcile himself with. Sam deserves pain and anguish for all the terrible things he did in the name of good because they were still evil actions. He feels he's earned every second of torture he suffered while in Hell. But those aren't the nightmares Sam has. It's the time spent with Lucifer inside him that haunts Sam most nights.

Lucifer had taunted Sam from the confines of his own mind. Had pointed out how fate had led them to where they were now and that, as long as Dean kept his nose out of things, Lucifer would spare him. After all, it was clear that Dean was never going to say yes to Michael and possibly be responsible for killing Sam. Sam had fought hard, ignoring Lucifer's longwinded internal speeches, had scratched and clawed towards the surface as Lucifer had blown Castiel to bits, snapped Bobby's neck, and begun beating Dean mercilessly.

Eventually, as the memories of Sam's childhood - all the years he'd spent in the backseat of the Impala; all the days, months, years, he'd spent traveling around the country with his big brother; all the little moments of peace and happiness that Sam had held on to over years - came flooding out of his mind with a force Sam had never thought he was capable of. That had been the final blow that had freed Sam and made him able to overpower Lucifer. He'd fought his way back to his big brother and, with what Sam had thought would be his last living act, put Lucifer back where he'd always belong.

It had been a relief, after waking up in the middle of an empty cemetery in the middle of the night, to find himself alone inside his own body. Whoever, or whatever, pulled Sam from the pit had made sure Lucifer was left behind. Even though Sam had no idea how he got topside, he would be forever grateful to the entity that had made it happen. It was just too bad it couldn't have erased the memories of having the devil inside him.


	5. May 2011: Remembering

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1...**

_Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first four chapters. This will be completed soon (I hope...work and life continue to be hectic). I'm shooting for posting the last part this week. This is going to be a two-part - one in Dean's perspective and one in Sam's - to finish the break between Season 5 and Season 6. I hope it turns out the way you expected (or maybe I hope it doesn't...) cause it did for me. _

_And, as always, please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!_

* * *

It's been almost a year now. A year since Dean watched his little brother battle the devil in a war of wills and win. A year since Sam had opened the portal to Hell, grabbed a hold of Adam, who had become the unwilling vessel for Michael, and plunged away into the blackness. The emotional wounds that were created that day are still raw, but they're healing. Dean knows that one day, he might be able to think about Sam and not feel like his heart is being ripped from his chest. Looking at Lisa and Ben reminds Dean that that day will come, some day.

Dean wakes up early, on the morning of the second of May. He stares at the white plaster ceiling, tracing a hairline crack that only his trained eyes would notice, and thinks about Sam. How it would be his little brother's twenty-eighth birthday. How the year seems to have sped by in a blur and how impossible that should seem. But it doesn't anymore. It doesn't seem so impossible that now, after all the years spent in the Impala criss-crossing the country fighting evil, that Dean's life has settled into something normal.

Normal. Dean used to scoff at the word, but now he smiles. Now, in his normal life, he makes pancakes and bacon, drives Ben to baseball practice, and takes Lisa out on dates. It may be missing a few key pieces, like Sam and his dad, but his "normal life" is beginning to settle around Dean. And he has to admit that it feels really good.

Beside him, Lisa stirs and Dean goes into autopilot, getting up and heading downstairs to start the coffee. He has a routine now: make the coffee, rouse Ben, shower, kiss Lisa good morning, get ready for work. Just like sitting at a rickety table in some shoddy no-tell motel room cleaning guns. There are steps, checklists, that he goes through in his head to make sure he doesn't forget anything.

Today is different and both Ben and Lisa notice it. Dean's still dressed in the sweats and worn t-shirt he wore to bed. Dean smiles at them, reassures them that he's just relishing in the fact that he has the day off, but they both can see there's something more. There's something Dean's pushing away from the surface, something haunting his eyes, and it scares them a little. This Dean, the one standing at the kitchen counter with one hand resting at the small of Lisa's back as he sips coffee, is an echo of the one that arrived on their doorstep almost a year ago.

After Lisa and Ben leave, Dean slowly climbs the stairs, his thoughts scouring through memories he's tried to keep locked away. They're not bad memories, not memories of the terrible losses he's faced through the years, but they hurt just the same. Dean can see little Sammy, on chubby one-year-old legs, tottering around Pastor Jim's living room as he takes his first steps. He can see Sam at six coloring in one of Dean's Hot Rod magazines. Sam at fourteen, bleeding from a small cut above his left eye and a wide, triumphant smile spread across his lips, as he leaned over Dean. It's that memory that stays with Dean the rest of the morning as he showers and dresses, as he finishes his fourth cup of coffee and reads the morning paper.

Sam had finally beaten his big brother, had finally gotten the upper hand and bested him, while they'd been practicing. The memory was a bright one, a beacon of happiness in a world of black despair, but it still pricked at the back of Dean's eyes, making them sting as he fought to hold back the tears. That memory was the turning point in Dean's mind. The point at which Sam had realized that if he could beat Dean then he could beat anything including their father's control.

Dean starts for his truck, pulling the keys from his pocket, before realizing that that isn't where he wants to go. He quickly switches his direction, heading for the garage. Light barely filters through the small windows, particles dancing in the thin streams of gold as Dean moves towards the tarp. Underneath, the Impala still gleams onyx, still holds power and beauty, and Dean smiles down at the beast of a car.

"Hey, girl."

Sam had always teased Dean, always groaned in mock embarrassment, when he'd talk to the car, but it was natural to him, like breathing. He runs his fingers along the body, feeling the curve of the hood as his rough hands brush away the thin layer of dust that still found its way under the protection of the cloth tarp. He rests his hand on the roof above the driver's seat, like he'd done a thousand times before, feeling the cool steel beneath his calloused hand, and looks over the top of the Impala to the passenger side.

For a moment, Dean can see Sam; can see his hazel eyes, soft and warm, looking back at him. See them asking Dean a million questions without uttering a single word. Then he's gone and Dean is just staring at the space between the Impala's passenger door and the concrete wall. He sighs and opens the door, the familiar creak like a shot to his heart. Dean sinks into the seat and just sits there, feeling the emotions wash over him - doubt, hopelessness, anger, betrayal, dread, excitement, euphoria, hope, pride, love. They hold his heart, pulling it from his chest and into his throat.

Dean sits in the Impala for what seems like hours, just running his hands over the steering wheel, casting looks into the backseat, brushing dust off the dashboard. Finally, he reaches up and pulls the visor down, letting the keys drop into his open palm. They're cold and hard, but still feel at home in his hands.

The Impala starts with a growl, coming to life with a great roar in the tiny confines of the garage, and Dean smiles wide, feeling the car rumble beneath him. He reaches over and turns the radio on, letting the speakers crackle to life with the sounds of classic rock. Letting the music call him home for a little while.

Steve Perry's voice begins to drift out, already crooning "Running Alone."

_"Too too many hearts been broke along this lonely road. Steel grey eyes can shine the lies until they look like gold. Cold city sidewalks can turn you heart to stone. The street won't defeat me 'cause I've got the will. I'll survive. I don't mind runnin' alone."_

Dean sits and listens to the words, letting them seep into his mind, letting the music lift out the memories he's been holding on to for just this moment. They are all of Sam, a sort of memorial to his little brother, and they all burn. The feeling is almost as bad as his dreams of Hell. Almost. He opens the glove compartment, ignoring the cell phones and papers that threatened to spill out, and produces a small silver flask. Dean can hear the liquid sloshing around inside as his hand shakes a little.

With the leather seat creaking beneath him, Dean settles in, his legs stretching across the front seats, his back against the closed driver's side door. His eyes are unfocused, replaying scenes from his childhood, _their_ childhood, as he sips whiskey from the flask. Dean blinks as he remembers one particular day, when Sam had been about eight. The day he'd asked, for what felt like the billionth time, about their mother. Dean had pleaded with Sam to stop asking, to let it go, but Sam was stubborn. Had always been stubborn. Dean chuckles at the thought, knowing that his brother's stubbornness had been what saved them all back in Stull Cemetery in Lawrence.

Raising the flask for a moment, holding it in salute to the empty passenger seat in front of him, Dean smiles, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Happy birthday, Sam," Dean forces out. "I miss you, man."

He pauses to take a sip of whiskey then closes his eyes and rests his head against the window, breathing slowly as he loses the iota of control he'd been hanging on to since he woke up in the early morning.

"I love you, Sammy," he whispers as another tear escapes.


	6. May 2011: Going Home

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1...**

_Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first five chapters. It's finally finished! I completed my take on how the break went for "The Brothers Winchester" between Season 5 and Season 6. I hope it turned out the way you expected (or maybe I hope it doesn't...) cause it did for me. Thanks for all the reviews and support I got. You guys are awesome._

_As always, please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!_

_now, without further adieu: Sam's May..._

* * *

Sam wasn't even aware of the date when he set out to find the library in a small town outside of Tulsa called Liberty. He was hunting a quanlier, a creature he basically knew little about except that it was similar to a werewolf. The savage killing of four people after Sam had arrived only further made him want to get in, get his research done, and finish the strange wolf-like creature. It was while passing the Periodicals section of the tiny library that Sam noticed the date.

For a moment, everything stopped, including his heart. For a split second, Sam could see himself sitting in the backseat of the Impala, a box of crayons and a coloring book in his lap as Dean rattled on and on from the front seat about some stupid music video he'd seen. John sat silently, his eyes focused on the winding road before them, his face stoic. Sam was convinced that his small family had forgotten the day, forgotten him, once more.

Suddenly, Dean stopped talking and turned in his seat, his arm draped over the back of the black leather bucket seat.

"So what do you want to eat for your birthday dinner, Sammy?" Dean had asked, his green eyes vibrant and sparkling with something little Sam couldn't pinpoint. A wide grin was stretched across his big brother's small features as Sam's head shot up and he stared at Dean with shock.

Sam caught the sideways glance John tossed at Dean, the tip of his mouth twitching upward a little. When all Sam did was gape at his older brother, Dean chuckled. "Well? What will it be?"

Sam gulped and looked over at John, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror before turning back to Dean.

"Pizza? Tacos? Cheeseburgers?"

"Um...," Sam hesitated, trying to figure out what he wanted and what would be the most acceptable answer. After a few more beats, he finally realized that what he wanted was to make Dean happy, to have Dean continue to grin at him the way he was now. "Cheeseburgers."

"Sweet!" Dean crowed out, his grin, if it was even possible, growing wider. Sam felt the replying smile stretch his lips wide and settled back against the seat, his crayons and coloring book forgotten as Dean began to rapid-fire questions at Sam.

Sam blinked and the memory faded, the pain of remembrance echoing through his chest. There were only a few times in the last year that he truly yearned to see Dean again, truly ached to hear one of his brother's sarcastic remarks. It took all Sam had to continue on his journey through the cold, stone building into the section he had been headed instead of turning around and bolting from the library. It took him every ounce of strength to return his mind to the task at hand and not rerun all the memories he'd stored within his mind of moments he truly treasured.

After a few hours of staring at pages in books that were thick and heavy, Sam finally had the information he need to kill the quanlier and he headed back out into the warm Spring day. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, heating the soft breeze that blew down the small street Sam had parked his car on. He pulled off the black denim jacket he was wearing and tossed it onto the passenger seat as he slid in behind the wheel. As he turned around to head in the direction of his motel, Sam flipped on the radio, something he hadn't done in months. Steve Perry's familiar voice crooned out of the crackling speakers, his words like salt in an already opened wound.

_"I believe that every soul has a song to sing. The spirit's locked in every man waitin' for a wing. Oh so much is wasted and oh so little used. The trick of a dreamer is keeping yourself from the blues. And I don't mind runnin'. Everyone's a hero, if you want to be. Everyone's a prisoner, if you want to be. Every step I take, every move I make, always one step closer. I don't mind runnin' alone."_

Sam sits, frozen in place behind the wheel of his car, and listens. He can't help but feel stuck in the past, reliving memories he's forced to the back of his mind in order to continue to work, to hunt, to live. He lets them flood over him, lets them force their way forward, and he lets the tears that they bring trail down his cheeks. Sam knows he's leaving himself open, raw for someone, or some_thing_, to use against him. But for a moment in time, he doesn't care. He suddenly feels more connected to Dean than he's felt in months and it's the one thing he would wish for if he had candles on a birthday cake.

Time with Dean. Time with his big brother.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Sam drops the Glock loaded with silver bullets into the trunk of his car, not caring that it's not in its place, that the safety isn't set and the chrome gun isn't snug in its foam home. He doesn't care that someone is going to see the smoke from the fire he set to burn the quanlier or that it might spread to the surrounding trees if the breeze blowing through the clearing gets any stronger.

All Sam cares about is getting away, leaving town, moving on. He doesn't want to be in Liberty anymore. He doesn't want to be in Oklahoma anymore. He doesn't want to be alone anymore either. Sam has made a decision. He's going to find Bobby, or Rufus, or someone that he and Dean knew from before everything went to hell - quite literally - and just hope word doesn't get back to Dean that he's topside. He's done being a ghost, done being vapor and shadow. He wants to live in the world again. Even if it's a world without Dean.

It's after Sam makes this decision that he hears the whispers, the murmurs of something out in the darkness. Something that's looking for a Winchester. Something that's looking, more specifically, for Dean.

At first, Sam thinks it's just rumor. That the few demons Sam has encountered, and sent back to Hell, are just toying with him, using his obvious isolation as a knife to wound him. Then he starts to hear about it elsewhere. In backwater bars where hunters sometimes drop in. Colleagues and friends whispering to their partners or children about a "big bad" that's looking for some retribution.

Sam tries to ignore it, tries to hope that if he's hearing about this then maybe Bobby is too. Or Rufus. That they'll make sure Dean's protected, that Dean and his new family are safe. But the doubt is there. Like an itch you can't scratch, it needles at Sam's brain, at his willpower, and poisons him.

Finally, Sam comes to the realization that he has to be sure, that he has to be positive that Dean, and Lisa and Ben, are okay. He figures, he'll just go and check. Stick to the shadows, to the darkness, and watch. Stay only long enough to make sure Dean is safe, that there isn't anything out there, lurking, waiting...hunting his big brother.

Sam climbs into his car, rolling down the windows to use the crisp night air to keep him awake, to keep him alert, as he makes the agonizingly long trip to Indiana. To Cicero. To Dean.


End file.
